


At Home

by missema



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Married Couple, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:37:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione uncharacteristically takes a day off of work, and Ron comes home early to check on her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Home

It was the time of autumn where it had begun to transition to winter, with frigid nights and short days, with bare tree limbs like hands stretching up to touch the sky with their twisted fingers. Ron always liked this time of year, the descending quiet that led into winter. When he was younger, it was the best time to practice quidditch, and it made him smile to think of his kids off at Hogwarts doing the same. Rose was a damn good flyer - they'd bought her a new broom not too long ago - and she'd made the house team. He made a note to get up there for the final game, if he could. Hugo was just itching for a broom of his own, but the rule about first years and brooms hadn't changed, so his young son was out of luck.

The house was quiet as he entered, but not empty. He hand't thought it would be since that was the reason why he'd come home so early. Hermione was sure to have heard the loud pop that accompanied his Apparating, but she didn't move or speak to greet him. Ron wondered for a moment if she were upstairs, but mint scented the air from her tea and he decided to look around downstairs first.

Hermione was there in the front room, curled into a corner of their overstuffed, squashy couch. She wore a large, old sweater of his, an off white cable-knit that hung loosely around her shoulders and slender frame, hiding all the slight curves that he loved. Her legs were folded underneath her, there but not visible, and he wondered if she was wearing anything besides the sweater. Brown hair slipped from the knot on the top of her head, and though he couldn't see it from where he stood, he knew there were strands of silver weaved into her hair now, though they didn't reveal themselves as readily in the daylight. They liked to hide in the thick mass of her hair until it was spread over her pillow at night, where he had a chance to count and catalogue them all when he kissed the fledgling lines around her eyes.

She was, predictably, reading a book, but this looked like fiction and not work. It was much too small for the tomes he was used to seeing his wife buried in, and wondered what it could possibly be. He stood in the doorway for a moment until she pulled a faded mauve ribbon from the book itself and let it slip between the pages to keep her place. He could hear her fingers as it slipped down the velvet ribbon and watched her absent smile as she closed the book. She set it onto the table next to her and looked up at him for the first time.

"You didn't go in today?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at her. 

"No, I wasn't feeling well this morning and couldn't shake it." She yawned, then continued. "I thought I'd stay here and rest, but all the owls and their paperwork found me here and I spent half the day working anyway." She said.

Ron nodded, a hand absently rubbing the stubble on his chin. He had left early that morning to have a meeting with George about some prototype charm he was testing for the new line of products for the joke shop. It was all a bit brilliant and mad, just like George himself. Fred would have loved it. His brother had been up most of the night before working on it, so Ron agreed to meet him early so George could finally get some sleep.

"Percy sent me an owl this afternoon asking if you were well when you missed a meeting with his department." Ron snorted. "Also attached his questions, hoping I'd pass them on to you."

She held out her hand and he went over to her finally, giving her the parchment and then sitting down on the couch next to her. After Hermione scanned the letter from Percy, she made a face and put it aside, moving closer to him. When she shifted, he caught a hint of bare legs - she wasn't wearing pants after all. It made him seem almost over dressed in his Ministry robes and he had the urge to touch her skin, to feel the comfort of her softness. He put an arm around her and she snuggled closer to his chest.

"Did you come home just to check on me?" She asked.

"'Course." He said simply, as if not coming home would have been unthinkable.

"That wasn't necessary, Ron. I'm not even really sick." Hermione said.

"It's not like you to miss work." Ron said it jokingly, but she stiffened slightly against his side, and he felt her blow out a calming breath before she answered.

"I could say the same of you."

He shrugged, an action that she felt rather than saw, the mass of his wide shoulders making her rise and fall with the movement. Ron could see her out of the corner of his eye, the way she burrowed into him as if she needed protecting, and knew that she had more to say.

They sat in silence save for the house noises around them. In the background, their charms for little domesticities worked around them - dishes washing, clothes folding and marching themselves up the stairs. The fire was silent as the flaming tendrils licked magic from one another, feeding off itself, but Ron could feel the presence of its warmth in their quiet. His hand found hers and his large thumb absently rubbed circles over her dainty palm. Their breathing began to match, every inhalation in sync, two people as one.

When Hermione broke the silence, she first positioned herself so she could face Ron. She pulled away and squared her shoulders, drawing herself up. He matched her movements, but sat without her rigidity. She was still so formal after all these years, he thought, but he knew that it made her more comfortable.

"I'm pregnant." She said, her gaze steady and sure. There was no doubt from her, no false alarm or early speculation. It was fact.

"I thought you might be." Ron answered calmly. The signs were there, and they'd been through this before. He simply had waited until she was ready to see it, or rather to say it.

Hermione laughed, a soft, strained sound that was nothing like her usual giggles. "I'm forty."

"You've got experience is all." He said.

"We weren't trying."

"We don't need to." He replied. 

"We agreed on two." Hermione pointed out. Long ago they had - Rose was a surprise of the most wonderful kind - but Hermione had planned for such things. They talked about one more child, and their careers and all the little details they could think of as people who'd never had children before. Many of those details had fallen by the wayside once they'd done some actual parenting, but they'd never revisited their original plan of two children. Eleven years since Hugo's birth, and they'd never really brought it up again, but apparently the subject wasn't done with them.

"Yeah we did, a long time ago. That was before there were three." Ron met her eyes, eyes that were colored chestnut in the reflected fire light, but were much darker most of the time. They held such knowledge and enthusiasm, endless passion and understanding, but he couldn't tell what she was thinking right then. What she was feeling was obvious, the uncertainty coming off her in waves. He offered her his hand again and spoke, "Three's a good number, right?" He asked softly.

She hesitated for a split second, but took his hand, lacing her fingers between his. "I suppose it has great magical properties." Hermione answered in her pedantic tone, but the tiny smile on her face told him it was a joke. 

"I'm glad you agree." He said, then added. "I'd hold off telling Hagrid though, unless you're at the stage where you want rock cake and giant pies delivered."

Hermione laughed her true laugh this time, the bright sound warming him from the inside out. Her eyes looked less weary and sparkled with her usual excitement, as if his acceptance had given her the permission to see the wonderful, truly magical side of having another child at any age. Ron let the laughter fade from her lips before he pulled her into a hard kiss that left no doubt how he felt.


End file.
